John Wilbye

7 March 1574 - September 1638 / Brome, Suffolk

Alas What Hope Of Speeding

Alas what hope of speeding
Where hope beguiled lies bleeding?
She bade come when she spied me,
And when I came she flied me.
Thus when I was beguiled,
She at my sighing smiled.
But if you take such pleasure
Of hope and joy, my treasure,
By deceit to bereave me,
Love me, and so deceive me.
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